


Simple Distractions

by trappedinhellfire



Category: Marvel (Movies), The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: And Felicia knows just how to give it to him, Angst, Blow Jobs, F/M, Fingerfucking, Harry needs a distraction, Leather Couch, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Skirt Kink, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-02-03 08:22:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1737845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trappedinhellfire/pseuds/trappedinhellfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since the young heir took over Oscorp, Felicia became baffled by his dichotomy. His changeable emotions, his frequent mood swings. But there was a secret he held that nobody knew – not even Felicia Hardy.</p>
<p>Harry Osborn was dying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's not free form. That's just how I naturally write. Punctuation is my bitch.
> 
> I have a thing for  
> broken boys  
> with  
> expensive toys  
> and  
> minimal joy.
> 
> That's what drew me to Harry Osborn, portrayed so beautifully by the incomparable Dane DeHaan. #getonthefuckingdanetrain
> 
> I WILL GO DOWN WITH THIS SHIP. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing did.

//

She just met him only a week ago, but Harry Osborn had already kissed her twice.

The first time took her explicitly by surprise. Knocking timidly on the door to his office, she sidled shyly into the room. He sat at his desk, half his body swathed in disjointed shadow – his silhouette long and lean. Felicia's eyes had a tough time adjusting to the absence of light: a brightly-lit hall that led to a dark and dim chamber... a new head of Oscorp, clothed in mystery. She tiptoed her way across the expanse and up to the young man, holding her breath. Nervous energy flitted about her – the desire to impress, to show him her competence and expertise – playing high in her mannerisms.

He did not move – did not make even a sound – as she reached him. Felicia stopped at his side – a slight dip to her lips: a small frown. She couldn't see his face – the darkness masked his features, like a blanket covering a child; a bandage protecting a wound.

A _secret_.

“Mr. Osborn,” she began, his name bringing still-shocked memories to her mind. A week ago, it had been his _father_ she had called 'Mr. Osborn' - took his commands, provided his assistance. His father, Norman Osborn. But now, the torch had been passed.

Harry Osborn made no sound - no response to her voice. The shadowed outline of his face set still as stone – a moment, frozen in time. Seconds passed – a pregnant pause. Waiting, waiting. Felicia began to doubt whether he had actually heard her. Had she spoken too low? Too quick? Anxiety ebbed away into her thoughts as she mulled over the enigma.

Moments ticked by before she steeled her courage to repeat herself. Clearing her throat softly, she spoke again. “Mr. Osborn. Here are the files you requested from the board meeting the other day. Alphabetized in order of relevant importance... Shall I just set them there?”

Her voice bounced softly around the room – like a whisper of wind in an otherwise stagnant night. Yet still – no response. It dawned on Felicia that she was likely intruding on him. Had she picked the wrong time to approach?

She quickly apologized.

“Sorry for my intrusion, Mr. Osborn. I didn't mean to overstep. I'll leave them on your desk for you to view at your own discretion. My apologies again...”

And she placed the thick stack of documents next to him, and turned to walk away. In one swift movement, Harry reached his hand out and gripped Felicia by the upper arm: a clasp, a clamp. Felicia froze in place – properly taken aback – but then his voice reached her ears. Quiet, almost a mumble, like a low sigh upon the sails of a ship. Just one word.

“... _Felicia_.”

Hearing her name on his lips sent a shock up her spine: a jolt. She paused, wondering if she heard him correctly. But then his hand tugged on her arm with force, pulling her backwards, spinning her to face him. His other hand stretched out and grasped her chin – and he brought her lips down to his.

A hard kiss,- mouth melding. Rough. Needy. Like a dying lamb thirsting for water in the desert heat.

And then it was over.

Felicia blinked rapidly several times in succession. Each second lasted an hour – until she quickly turned and hurried from the room. She closed the door behind her with pronounced urgency and walked briskly down the hall. It wasn't until she stood in the elevator that the _finality_ of the moment hit her. She leaned her head against the sleek glass elevator wall, closing her eyes, - her mind racing.

Though the room had been dark – much too dark for detail – something in that moment caught her gaze. A flash from the corner of her vision. Harry Osborn's ice-blue eyes. Glossed. Vacant. Racked with pain. And two damp lines running down his face.

Tears.

//

The second time it happened, she was equally unprepared. Harry Osborn hadn't shown his presence around Oscorp for an entire week. He arrived daily just like everyone else, yet he holed himself up in his office tower as soon as he got there.

Utterly confused, Felicia left him alone. Perhaps he was grief-stricken over his father's death... perhaps he felt bogged down with inheriting the company. Whatever the reason proved to be, she distanced herself entirely from her boss, believing that _he_ would contact her if he required anything.

The spontaneous kiss played into her decision as well. What deductions could she draw from it; what inferences could she make? She tried desperately to free the memory from her mind of the kiss he stole from her... but it only circled back every time she pushed it away. It hadn't meant anything – it was _nothing_. Random. An action lived only in that moment. Yet then why did it weigh so heavily on her?

Days bled into each other as time turned. Before long, Felicia realized that she had to approach Harry Osborn again. From the business end of the perspective, there was only so much she could do on her own. Her position didn't dictate power, didn't radiate command. She was Mr. Osborn's assistant, nothing more. There were decisions to be made on Oscorp's behalf. And only the head of Oscorp could make them.

When she could put it off no longer, Felicia made her way up to the top of the tower, stopping outside his room. She took several steadying breaths – in, out, in, out. Concentrating. Meditating. Focusing. And then she knocked tentatively on his door. She half-believed that he would give no answer – but then a low voice issued past the wood.

“Come in.”

Felicia set her hand on the knob and twisted the door open, expecting to be greeted by the same shadowy interior, but met something else instead. Light pervaded every corner – such a drastic change from before.

At the head of the space, Harry Osborn sat at his father's desk, fingers sweeping the holographic computer screen built into the frame. He wore a black leather jacket; his slouched shoulders evident through the fabric. A glass of liquor – whiskey, scotch, bourbon? - beside him.

Felicia straightened her back and walked promptly towards him, angling herself so that the desk stood between them. Separating them. As she approached, Harry swiped his hand over the screen, and the hologram went blank. Minimized. Covered. When she stopped in front of him, he looked up.

His brilliant blue eyes clashed with the heavy dark eye circles that sat underneath them, giving him the appearance of an insomniac, or possibly an addict. A split-second thought flashed through her mind – were his eyes _always_ like that? - before it cleared and she resumed her facade. Harry leaned back into his chair, raising the glass of liquor to his lips – a lithe half-smile toying one side of his mouth.

“Felicia...” he drew out her name like a caress. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

She looked down at him, trying to conceal her questions and emotions. She was his assistant, nothing else. “Mr. Osborn.” she started, “There are a few deadlines and documents that I have to finalize with you, as well as get your approval on."

Harry's eyes lowered emphatically, and he swiveled his chair to the side, turning away from her. He brought the glass to his lips and drained the contents. “Why don't _you_ just take care of it?”

Anger boiled slowly to Felicia's cheeks, but she tried to keep it hidden from view. Conceal, don't feel. She took another steadying breath. “I can't, Mr. Osborn. I don't have the authority. I'm trying-”

And then he interrupted her, cutting her off mid-sentence. His voice rose, undulating in a mixture of annoyance and red-hot irritation. “I'm trying to tell _you_ , Felicia, to just make the decisions yourself. I couldn't care less.”

One of Felicia's eyebrows raised with understated confusion “I... hardly think that's appropriate, Mr. Osborn. I don't have the authority-”

Again, he interrupted her. A snide snicker issued past his lips. His eyes narrowed as he stared off into space. “Authority? I'm _giving_ you the authority, okay? Just do it yourself. I'm not interested right now.”

Felicia paused, shocked. Who was this young man, and how was he so different from himself only a week prior? Her eyebrows knit together and she stared at him, completely befuddled. When she opened her mouth to speak again, Harry was two steps ahead of her.

“Come here, Felicia.” he said, beckoning with his hand, his face still turned away from hers. Felicia walked around the wide desk and stopped next to him.

Harry Osborn's eyes flashed to hers. Steely. Vivid. Electric blue. He set his empty glass down, and stood up in one fluid motion. The vastness of his gaze suddenly became apparent. They were deep eyes. _Old_ eyes. Eyes that had seen their share of heartbreak, pain, loss. Eyes that had lived a thousand lifetimes. She got lost in them.

And Harry leaned in, brought his hand tenderly to her chin, and pulled her lips once more to meet his. Sweet. Cloying. Like some sort of addictive poison. He kissed her with fervor.

Until, as quickly as it started, it was over. Harry Osborn released her face from his grasp, and walked straight past her to the great glass window, staring across the New York City skyline.

“That will be all. You can leave now, Felicia.”

And he said no more.

//

_Harry fucking Osborn. Just who the hell does he think he is?_

Felicia scarcely knew how to feel about him. The messages he sent, the emotions he portrayed – none of them - _none_ of them – made sense. And as Felicia sat at her desk over the next few days, making arrangements on his behalf, she felt plagued by the sheer _polarity_ of him. The lackluster delegation. Not to mention those brief, stolen kisses.

Heat spread to her cheeks as the memories – evocative, uncensored – leapt unbidden to her mind. Try as she might to shove them from her thoughts, they only returned back to her. She shook her head in vigorous denial, yet the truth could not be hidden from inside her own brain.

She had _enjoyed_ that second kiss.

Sudden, yes. And completely unexpected. But _different_ from the surprise of the first. The spell of his eyes had captivated her – drawn her deep into him. A delicate grasp of his fingers – her chin sealed tight in his hand. And his mouth took hers with purpose – a fiery vehemence not yet known by her. Filled with ardor as a lover's kiss. Intense. Unyielding. His lips seared their mark into her flesh – her very core. Burned,- then at once, gone. Like so many candles snuffed out by the wind.

Felicia snapped roughly out of the memory – a sudden awakening. Sighing deeply, she mashed her palm into her forehead, as if the pressure itself could alleviate the daydreams from her mind.

//

The next time Felicia called on his presence, she approached his office door with caution – keeping herself on high alert, running through her premeditated responses over and over again inside her head. She had her intention, knew what to say. Harry Osborn wouldn't astonish her this time.

The short raps on the door echoed softly around the hall. A pause – before his voice issued, slightly muffled, from the other side.

“Enter.”

Felicia cracked open the door and walked inside. Harry Osborn sat at the great desk, his fingers pressed deeply into his temples, his eyes closed tight. The circles under his eyes had spread like a rash. Resembling a bruise, they were mottled, deep-set, and purple. Felicia faltered slightly in her step, confusion and fear settling in, but she continued to approach him. When she stopped in front of his desk, she saw his fingers massage tiny circles into the planes of his skull.

He didn't even open his eyes.

“What do you want, Felicia?” his voice – measured, meticulous. Barely concealing his indignation. Felicia's eyes swept quickly to his side – to the glass of amber liquor next to him. An empty glass tankard, drained of its spoils – laid adjacent to it.

“Mr. Osborn...” she began – a brief halt in her planned speech – and then the rest of the words tumbled out in a rush, “You have several upcoming meetings. I'm here to go over the details with you...”

Harry's eyebrows drew even further together, accentuating the pained look of annoyance on his face. One of his hands moved to the bridge of his nose and he pinched it, _hard_. “I'm not in the mood, Felicia.” Anger seethed blatantly within his voice.

Felicia could tell she was in the danger zone. He seemed intoxicated, teetering on the edge of sobriety and hostility. Felicia knew she should leave – and fast.

“Yes, sir. We'll go over it another time-”

And then he exploded.

“ _Damn_ it, Felicia! I don't _want_ to talk about it another time. I don't want to talk about it at _all_...!” his eyes popped open - manic, possessed blue. Fractured ice. “ _Jesus_ , don't you _get_ it? None of it fucking matters! _None_ of it, do you hear me?!”

His voice rose several decibels until he was shouting. Felicia could do nothing but stare, wide-eyed and startled – into the gaze of a madman. Her body screamed at her to run. Fight-or-flight response. But she remained rooted in place, clearly in shock. And,- it was then that her over-heightened mind noticed something. A patch of raised skin- scaly, green, and angry – upon the side of his neck.

Harry Osborn stood up in a rush, grabbed the antique glass in a wild snatch, and threw it against the wall. It shattered in a violent detonation -a storm of shards and crystalline dust – a conflagration of liquor and tiny prisms.

“Get out of here!” he yelled at her, “Leave me alone!!”

At once, her motion sensors finally kicked in. She turned around abruptly, and half-walked, half- _ran_ out his office door into the safety of the hall. She clasped the handle and pulled the door closed sharply behind her. Leaning into the thick barrier, she closed her eyes as her knees shook.

It took a long while for her breathing to even, the adrenaline draining out of her at last. A nauseated feeling came over her; she clamped her hand to her mouth and fought the urge to be sick. Weakly, she lifted her innate form from the door and started to stumble slowly down the hallway.

Just as she almost left earshot of that deranged place, she heard a low moan emit brokenly from the other side. A distressed cry – a whimpered sob.

“ _He won't help me, he won't help me..._ ”

//


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The eyes are the window to the soul. And that's why I take so much time describing them, their every look, their every change. Plus – you gotta admit, Dane has some freaking /gorgeous/ eyes. It would be a waste not to detail them.

//

Felicia would have liked nothing better than to never see Harry Osborn ever again. He was a grenade with broken wiring – rigged to go off at the tiniest push, the smallest prod. And to what avail? His emotions rode more unstable than faulty machinery. Depression, compulsive apathy, open hostility... they all contributed to Felicia's overwhelming distress.

In the days following Harry's rageful episode, Felicia remained at her desk at Oscorp, dutifully arranging plans and making decisions in the company's best interest – albeit without consulting her boss. And as the days melted into one another, the paradox of Harry Osborn was pushed to a distant – yet present – part of her mind.

That all fell apart one late evening when the pager light atop her desk started blinking. Her eyes automatically snapped to the little red device – a communications link. She stared at in in disbelief. It hadn't been lit since before Norman Osborn had died. Before he had fallen gravely ill and sentenced to bed rest... not since he last sat in the very seat his tormented son now occupied.

Functioning very much like a 'Call Nurse' button in hospitals, the pager signaled Felicia to attend to the room at the top of the tower – the CEO's room.

 _Harry Osborn's_ room.

Why had he chose to use the link _now_? Felicia's hand moved to shut off the light. Her eyes closed in poised trepidation.

The time had come to see him again.

//

When he didn't answer to her knock on the door, Felicia knew something was wrong. She knocked louder – sharp raps upon the wood – and waited, breathless, straining her ears for his response.

It didn't come.

Anxiety turned her indifference into sheer panic. Hand shaking, she turned the knob and pressed her weight bodily into the door. Her eyes met the same detached darkness that had previously swallowed the interior. A vortex of pitch-black – illuminated only by the soft glow of New York City's skyline.

Harry Osborn was not at his desk.

“Mr. Osborn?” her voice rang amongst the shadows, an octave higher than usual. “Sir, are you here?”

Silence radiated out like a clenched fist. Felicia's heart began to beat unevenly in her chest. Closing the door quickly behind her, she ventured forward, toeing along the expanse, using her memories of the room as her cane in the dark. Sweeping her eyes around in large arcs, her gaze came to rest upon the black leather couch set near a corner. A limp form splayed down its length.

“Mr. Osborn!” she ran to the couch, nearly tripping twice over her own feet. As she reached it, she fell onto her knees, hands gripping the leather cushion. Using the dim light from the skyline, she scanned the innate body. A thin frame,- a lean silhouette. And a face, pale and white as moonlight.

Harry Osborn laid still and unmoving, sprawled on his side. Felicia made a hasty grab for his shoulder, shaking it with emphasis. “Mr. Osborn...! Sir, can you hear me?” His body was unresponsive- frozen as a cadaver under her hands. She shook him harder, frantically calling his name. “Mr. Osborn... please! Mr. Osborn... Harry... _Harry!_ ”

His eyelids fluttered open – a small breath exhaled his lips. His gaze roved unsteadily to hers... eyes unfocused and cloudy. All color was drained from his cheeks, leaving them white and transparent. His listless eyes stared, almost unseeing, into her face; the dark circles underneath, a purplish shaded stigma – rings of ghostly death. Felicia caught a gasp in her throat.

“Dear _lord_ , Mr. Osborn... we need to get you help. You're not well, let me-”

A weak voice trailed over her – meek, devoid of vigor. “...what...” and then it dwindled off.

Felicia leaned in closer to him, pressing her ear mere inches from his pale lips. “Sorry, sir, say that again?”

His words were barely a whisper, “...what... did you call me?”

Felicia’s eyes went wide as saucers. Her speech faltered and she stammered in fear of her realized transgression, “...I-... I don't... I didn't-...”

Harry fixed her with a glassy yet unwavering gaze. His voice – though frail and dim – seemed magnified in her apprehension. “...you called me 'Harry'...”

She gulped audibly in the inky silence, knowing that she couldn't lie to him – she _had_ to say the truth. “Yes....sir, I believe I did. I'm sorry, I won't-”

Again, he skirted over her words with his own. “...Don't apologize. I liked it...” A small, quiet laugh left his lips.

Felicia instantly became thankful for the darkness encompassing the room as a ruddy blush bloomed in her cheeks. She looked into his spectral features – blanched, yet oddly beautiful – like polished alabaster. His eyes were twin mirrored pools... vast, lucid, endless, She felt an insatiable tug in the pit of her gut. And the magnet clicked into place. Felicia lowered her face to his, and softly pressed down her lips.

The kiss started slow. Tentative. Harry was weak, sickly. And Felicia tried to be gentle with him. But then something changed. Harry's lips turned hard. Vice-like. And her tender notions went instantaneously up in smoke. His throat opened – by effect, so did hers – and their tongues met. Harry Osborn sighed into her mouth – heat erupted like brushfire across her head, inside her stomach. When she felt her panties dampen, she abruptly severed their lips, and pulled away.

Their eyes locked together,- Felicia's breathing was shallow and quick. She clamped her hand over her mouth in shock, paralyzed by what she had just done. _Oh my god..._

But then Harry Osborn did something she didn't expect – he _smiled_. His lips- flushed from their contact – spread into a small grin. Dimples appeared in his sallow cheeks. When he spoke, his voice was steady, no longer faint. “What made you do that?”

Felicia's words spilled anxious and shaky from behind her hand. “I-... I... you... just looked so helpless, I just...” she trailed off into nothing.

Harry's smile stretched wider across his pale features. A tiny flare appeared in his gaze. “So... you have a thing for weak, helpless guys...?” Using a modicum of strength, Harry propped himself up on his elbow. His other hand moved slowly to Felicia's palm, and he drew it away from her face.

She couldn't look away from his eyes. She felt herself nod, and then, sullenly: “Yes, sir... I guess I do.” His hand released hers, and he reached out,- curving it softly behind her neck.

“Call me Harry.”

And he tugged her face forward to his.

Their lips rejoined like a spark sent to flammable tinder. He molded his mouth with hers, coaxing her tongue, twisting around it in fiery play. Kissing her fiercely – with all the posture and fervor of oil put to flame. His mouth pulled at hers – incessant, demanding. And she was like putty in his grasp. Moldable. Impressionable. He smiled around their kiss – brief, yet knowing. A master at work. And his hand slid upwards into her dark tresses, grabbing a fistful of her hair, sealing her inexorably to him. Felicia gasped at the pain as several strands of her hair ripped from her skull. But the second that the ache faded, a deep arousal took its place.

The pain brought pleasure. And she fell into a tranced state.

Seconds – minutes – hours? - later when they broke apart, Felicia rocked backwards off her knees and sat firmly on her haunches, placing space between them. A break. A reprieve. Her breaths came in erratic gasps – her cheeks, hot and scarlet.

Harry Osborn's mouth turned up into a smug smirk. He rested off his elbow, laying his head back onto the leather seat. His slim, long-fingered hands clasped together atop his belly. For several moments, they stayed quiet. And as time ticked, a dark shadow passed onto Harry Osborn's face. His eyebrows staunched together, his blue eyes became hard and flinty. Even his lips – previously adorned by such a beatific smile – changed into a thin, set line. They very air about him polarized – and Felicia was again reminded of the sudden mood swings that he was prone to. Promptly, she remembered why she entered his office in the first place.

Picking her words with the utmost care, she spoke quietly, as respectfully as she could, “Mr. Os-... Harry. Is there something wrong...? Why... why did you page me at my desk...?” 

A great sigh exhaled Harry Osborn's mouth. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger – and he remained quiet. A very pregnant pause filled the room, morphing with the darkness. Intensifying it. And – just as Felicia began to doubt whether he would respond – a low voice left his mouth. Just three words.

“I'm dying, Felicia.”

An intangible, sinister fist closed quickly over Felicia's throat. She went rigid – motionless. An incredulous eye of the storm.

Another long respite – a stop in his speech. His hand moved from his nose, his arm draping across his forehead. His eyes stared blankly into the void. And he spoke again.

“You knew my father, Felicia. You worked closely with him. I'm sure you became aware of his... illness. How it began, how it spread...”

Felicia couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Her entire focus was on the man before her. Harry's arm slipped from his forehead and his face turned to hers – eyes deadlocked in shrewd certainty.

“His ailment is now mine. Our poisoned bloodline... Our genetic link.” His gaze wrapped hers in a harsh embrace. “Retroviral hypodisplasia. I'm cursed, Felicia.”

The unadulterated disbelief ringing in Felicia's head was marred by one thought. One simple thought that she couldn't shake:- _No._

She felt her memories shift – loose sand in an hourglass. And she remembered the deep, clandestine recollections of Norman Osborn's spiraled demise. How his illness progressed. Worse and worse... until it took his very life into its cryptic depths. Felicia looked at the man in front of her, murmuring his name on her lips in hushed cognition. All her fear and heartache and sympathy meshed into that single word-

“ _Harry_...”

Felicia sensed she was on the verge of crying. But Harry Osborn broke first. 

He raised both his palms to his sunken eyes, covering them. His mouth pressed together – and his body began to shake. Silent, hidden sobs. A mind racked with anguish; no means of escape. When he spoke, his voice cracked under the weight of his mental strain.

“I can't forget about it, Felicia. Always-... always, it's on my mind. ...Like a root, sapping my strength. It's... all I can think about.”

She saw his body convulse quietly – his noiseless tears pulled her heart asunder into tiny pieces. Such a broken, defeated boy. Lost in his own terrors, adrift in a sea of agony.

Crying while hiding his wounds. Trying not to make a sound. Slowly releasing his pain unto himself, and him alone. And Felicia fell to fragments for him.

She reached her hand across to one of his, and pulled it away from his eye, holding his palm. Harry flinched at the touch – his face jerked towards hers – and she perceived the sorrow within. Harry Osborn's eyes were fractured, ringed with small, wet tears – beaded, but not yet spilt. The circles underneath,- pitted, an alarming hue of lilac. His mouth quivered incessantly.

“Please...” Felicia breathed lowly, willing herself not to cry. “Please, sir... what do you need? ...What can I do for you...? ... _Any_ thing. Tell me-... _please_ , Harry...”

Harry sighed through his nose – a torrid mask of pain. His gaze was split like splintered steel. “There's nothing you can do, Felicia.”

Her hand gripped his tighter, squeezing it. She felt moisture enter the corners of her eyes, blurring her vision. “That's not true,” she insisted, “There... there has to be _some_ thing...”

But Harry just looked at her blankly – a long, scrutinizing moment – before shaking his head from side to side. His eyes rolled shut with pronounced finality.

Felicia's body began to tremble as that great demon – anxiety – loomed monstrously over her. And then, during that irreversible moment of loss – an idea sprang, free-formed, into her mind. A solution. A means to an end. A way to make him forget all his worries, all his stress. For anyone else, Felicia would be hesitant to do so. But for Harry... for Harry Osborn, Felicia would _gladly_ help. She acted instantly.

Releasing his hand, she stood up from the floor and then sat on the leather couch by his feet. She paused for only a second – a tantalizing breath preceding the plunge. And she moved her hands like lightning-: spreading his legs apart.

Harry Osborn's deadened eyes snapped open with a near-audible pop. He shuddered, and his body recoiled a couple inches up the cushion, away from her. Lifting his pale face from the seat, he fixed her with a startled gaze. “What are you _do_ ing-...?”

Felicia scooted forward and again, pulled apart his legs. She nestled her body between his knees, and leaned down until her head was near the crotch of his pants. Swiftly, before he could budge farther from her, her hands broke the clasp of his slacks and opened the zipper. She dove her fingers into the folds of his boxer shorts and grabbed around his cock. Harry let out a gasp.

Felicia spoke her words carefully, “I'm helping you, Harry. You said... you can't take your mind off it, can't forget. Well... I'm going to _make_ you forget.” She loosed his dick from the confines of his clothes, pinned their gaze, and bent her face down. Her lips, an inch from his cock.

Was it just her – or did his breathing speed up? Harry's ice-blue eyes held a secret – an unvoiced longing. Felicia saw right through it.

“Just relax...” And she closed her lips around his cock, her tongue sweeping once around the tip... then slid all the way down his shaft. Felicia's opposite hand freed his balls, and she traced her tongue around them, outlining their shape. Her breath blew warm and heady into his crotch. Harry exhaled another _gasp_ , a sudden moan. Sensual.

Felicia breathed a wisp of caution around his dick. 

“ _Shhh_...”

She wanted him quiet, wanted him to put all his energy into being silent. The focus would draw his mind away from more ominous things. Felicia pressed her lips into his shaft – a tempting smile.

But that didn't mean she would make it _easy_ for him. Her hands closed snugly about his base and she swallowed him deep into her throat. She heard a muffled groan from Harry's lips – like he had covered his mouth with the palm of his hand- and Felicia felt his length grow fuller within her. Pumping his cock quickly, she dipped her throat around him. In, out, in, out. Each time her tongue returned to the head, she swirled it in a circle. The pattern set into place, she loosened the base of her throat, and took him as far down as she could.

Harry's silence didn't last long. His sporadic, muted moans gradually became _louder_ , more frequent, until – he lifted his hand from his mouth, and cursed low into the darkness.

“ _Fuck_...!”

Felicia didn't let up, didn't even slow the pace. On the contrary, she sped up ever so slightly, giving him a new rhythm to work with. Every dip of her mouth down his shaft, she moaned, - a vibration that made his hips start to sway. Before long, his thrusts matched her pace, and every time she swallowed him up, he bucked into her mouth.

From somewhere above her, Felicia felt Harry move his arms to his side, griping the fabric of the leather in stabilizing fistfuls.

“... _fuck_ , Felicia...”

The crass sounds of his speech, lewd intakes of breath, and the force of his hips only served to entice Felicia even more. She sucked his cock in vigor, and with every thrust, it dawned on her that _she_ was enjoying this as much as _he_ was.

Powerful, affluent Harry Osborn. Privileged, trust-fund baby hipster kid. She had him _right_ under her finger. (Or, more accurately, her tongue.)

Harry didn't last long with her current pace. A few more dips of her head, a couple swipes of her tongue, and then his cock jerked in an involuntary spasm. His hands seized her head, twisting into the strands of her hair. He held her to him, - a sharp groan tore from his lips.

Felicia knew what was coming next. But- _no_ , this wasn't enough. Too easy, too simple. She wanted _more_ of a distraction for him... and desired more of _him_ for herself. She wouldn't let it stop there. Her hands liberated his dick, reached upwards, and wrenched his fingers from her hair. She slid his cock from her throat with a sound like a cork freed from a bottle, and balanced back onto her knees.

The look Harry Osborn fixed on her was one she would never forget. A mixture of lusted longing and desire. And his _eyes_ \- alive, liquid silver – yet torn, unequivocally sad. Like she had taken something from the core of his heart,- an integral pining. A small smile picked up the corner of Felicia's mouth.

She had denied him his orgasm, and he was _pouting_. Such a devastated little boy. Used to getting whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. _Well..._ Felicia shrugged in her mind, _I'll be the one to break that._

Harry’s breathing was coarse. His voice, a pleaded whimper, “...What... did you... stop for...?” His eyes begged her for the answer. He braced himself up onto his elbows, raising his upper body from the couch, and stared at her face. Accusing. Indicting.

Felicia's smile spread wider. _God_ , he sounded so hot when he whined. She stretched her hand out and gently pushed on the center of his chest. “ _Shhh_...” she whispered again, “Sit against the arm rest.” And Harry moved at once. No qualms from his mouth, no questions. Receding towards the padded arm of the couch, he sat up, and propped his back upon it. His cock – firm and erect, still freed from his pants – looked so _delicious_. Felicia wanted badly to take it back into her mouth – to suck it deep into her throat, to taste his pre-cum again on her lips – but she had other things to do for him. Other distractions. 

Sitting firmly on her behind, Felicia brought her knees in front of her, and then spread her legs apart. Her black stiletto heels dug deeply into the leather. Slowly, drawing the moment out, she pulled up her skirt until it bunched around her hips.

Harry's eyes slid down to her thighs – attentive, enraptured – and settled on her panties. A sheer, lacy black thong. Felicia felt an intense surge of raucous delight deep in her stomach;- heat blossomed in the core of her snatch. And her hand trailed down, tugging her thong to the side, - revealing herself to him.

The sight of her bare pussy caused his breath to hitch in his throat. His eyes flashed briefly up to hers. And Felicia spoke one word.

“ _Watch_.”

She brought her fingers to her folds – already lightly damp – and began to rub herself in front of him. She sunk one finger deep into her snatch, then pulled it out, and circled her clit in tiny motions, flicking the nub. A tiny sigh of pleasure skirted from her lips – and she watched Harry Osborn's face change. The startled look of surprise, replaced by something else. His eyes narrowed ever so faintly – focusing, zoning in – and his lips parted in a small, centered gap.

He wore the face of fervent hunger. Erotic, submissive attention. His eyes were hers, and hers alone.

Felicia peered at him in silence, letting her fingers do the talking. As her middle finger toyed with her clit, she drew her other hand to the lips of her folds, and stretched them wide, unveiling the entirety of her pink pussy. She saw his eyes widen slightly. And she stuck a second finger inside, moving it in time with the first. Pumping in and out.

The thought of him _watching_ her, analyzing her play with herself got her wet – and fast. She felt the juices inside her pussy build up and seep out – slowly, it started to drip down her snatch, soaking onto the black leather. Felicia's breaths became short, labored. A buzzed, pleasant dizziness wrapped warmly around her mind.

As she continued to work her steady rhythm – into her pussy, then sliding up to her sensitive clit, squeezing it, rubbing around in small circles – she began to feel a pressure grow inside her. _Fuck_ , she was close.

And at that moment, Harry Osborn's eyes snapped back to hers. Cool. Measured. Icey. His dick twitched.

Felicia gasped deeply – almost tumbling over the edge – and pulled her hand from her pussy in one quick motion. Her gaze deadlocked with his and she saw the _realization_ behind his eyes.

He knew the power that his gaze held over her. Knew that the look on his face alone had nearly made her cum. A smirk lifted the edge of his mouth into a conscious grin.

Her head spun with clouded ecstasy. Trying to regain control not only of herself – but also the situation – Felicia rocked back to her knees, and moved forward between his legs until she was right upon him. She leaned down, feeling his hard dick press into her stomach, and brought her wet finger up to his face. She put assertion into her voice.

“Lick it,” she breathed.

Harry's eyes trailed to her hand – palm stretched outwards to his mouth – middle finger coated in shine. He studied it for the merest fraction of a second – then his eyes locked back to hers. His hands suddenly reached up, grabbing. He pressed his thumbs into her palm and wrapped his fingers around the back of her hand. Steadily – with all the punctuated slowness of recognized dominance, he raised her finger to his mouth, and closed it between his lips.

The first lick swept the entire length of the joint down to the base. And then his tongue trailed around it in a spiraled dance, swirling, before releasing it with a pop. A screen of fire lit his gaze – Felicia's heart jumped – and his lips sealed about it again. He sucked it in avidity, breaths hot against her skin. His tongue spread a deep heat across her entire body – lighting her flesh in tempestuous fury. An involuntary moan escaped Felicia's mouth.

 _Damn_...

He pulled the digit from his mouth with deft precision. The grip of his hands shifted as he grasped her arm inside one clenched fist – fingers encasing her wrist like a shackled manacle. His other hand sought around the back of her neck. And in one seamless movement, he tugged her face toward his, pulling her wrist down past his hips, purchasing leverage from her form.

Their lips melded, and she _tasted_ the wetness of herself on his tongue. Silken. Sinful. Salty. Harry spun a web of fire into her mouth. He moved his lips with purpose, casting a magic spell. And Felicia was swept up into it. Succumbing to his touch, she let her body go limp in his hands – and focused all her attention to the push of his tongue, the nip of his teeth scraping against her lip. _God_ , he was a phenomenal kisser. She wanted nothing more than to be kissed by him for the rest of her life: the infinity of time, until the sun expanded and swallowed the earth, until the stars winked out and the universe was nothing more than a dark, empty vortex.

Somewhere during that astral plane of mind, she felt the grasp of his hand leave her wrist, felt the pressure loosen from her neck. Both hands now liberated, she reached out, entwining her fingers into his hair, securing their lips harshly together. He worked his mouth like wildfire. Unfurling, entrancing embers. And while her mind was irrevocably preoccupied with his lips, his arms moved. Strong hands clenched the bottom of her thighs, and with a motion beguiling his strength, Harry lifted her weight, sitting her body atop his crotch.

The friction of his bare dick against the lace of her thong jolted Felicia out of her reverie. Her eyes sought out his and she looked for an explanation within them. An answer. _Any_ clue to his plan. But she couldn't read him.

His eyes were set in admonition – whirlwinds of live flame and ice. When he spoke, his voice was a whip. A demand. “Take off your shirt.”

Felicia paused – a split-second of indecision. Then her hands moved up to her blouse, and she unbuttoned it, throwing it aside onto the floor. Harry's eyes fixed onto her bra – black, lacy. Like the thong. Felicia didn't need him to speak to know the command rising within. Her fingers bent up the skin of her back, and she unlatched the bra. It fell to the floor in a heap.

Harry Osborn smiled widely – an arrogant, haughty smile. Bringing one hand to cup her breast, he leaned into her neck, peppering her with hot kisses. His tongue trailed her collar bone all the way up to her ear, where he sunk his teeth, biting hard.

Felicia moaned at the pleasure of that pain. His hand fondled her tit, rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She inhaled sharply, gasping as the peak of her nipple stood hard and firm.

Distracted as she was by the slow, arduous tease of his hand on her breast and his lips on her neck, Felicia barely caught the question that spilled from his mouth.

“Why are you wearing a thong, Felicia?”

She shuddered as she felt the pressure of his finger push her lace thong against her soaked pussy. His hand rubbed the lace in soft, sensual patterns; the friction on her clit bringing fresh waves of wetness to her snatch.

Trying to speak in a normal pace – but failing entirely – Felicia accepted the stammered stride of her voice. “.... I- ... _ahhn_... I... always... wear them...”

Harry's smile against her neck was impish. His words fell heavy and amorous upon her ears. “Even to work? My, my, Felicia.” She felt his fingers depress forcefully on her pussy. “What a bad girl you are.” He gathered her thong to one side, and thrust two fingers deep inside her. Felicia gasped - _groaned_ \- at the touch. He fingered her at a steady pace. “Naughty, naughty,” he breathed into her neck as his mouth continued its tortuous path, sucking deep craters into her skin. Leaving red, angry marks behind in their wake.

Felicia's head swam at his touch, his tiered assault. And as she sank deeper into the bowels of her pleasure – a tiny voice leapt into her mind: a forgotten promise, a whispered vow. Her eyes flew open in sudden realization, and she whipped her hand down to his, pulling his fingers sharply out of her pussy.

Harry pinned her with an irritated scowl. An impatient sigh left his lips. Felicia hurried her hushed words, trying to stop his impending mood swing.

“Harry-... no...” she panted in difficulty, her body spasming with slow recovery, “...I told you... I wanted to help _you_... So let me. Let me be the one to do it...” her voice dwindled off into silence.

Harry Osborn looked at her in annoyance... and then, just three seconds later – his face slipped into chagrin. He leaned back down against the armrest, angling his head to lay upon it. He peered up into her eyes with a sly, laced gaze. Feigned innocence. Playful ignorance, marred only by the smug, slanted half-smile of his lips.

“Be my guest, Felicia.”

Grounding herself back into the dominant seat, Felicia brought her hand to his cheek, stroked it softly, and then whipped her fingers across his skin – just once. A light slap of rendered punishment. Harry gasped; his eyes burned.

“No more transgressions, _Mr. Osborn_ ,” she used his title in a sweetly tease. And she shifted her weight slightly, trying to distangle her legs from around his hips. Her hands pulled at her skirt as she meant to remove it, but Harry's fingers flew to her wrist, stopping her.

“No... wait,” the words were shaded. “Leave it on.” His eyes – lusted, veiled in voracity, sought out hers. Felicia felt a rush of warmth inside her core. _Kinky boy_. Did he have a skirt fetish?

A smirk touched her mouth. “Whatever you say, _sir_...” Her hand found his dick, wrapping it solidly in her palm. “ _Awhh_...” Felicia cajoled as Harry exhaled jaggedly through his nose. “Baby wants it, doesn't he...?”

Harry narrowed his eyes at her taunt, attempting to look cross, but his ragged breathing gave himself away. “Bitch...” he groaned.

Felicia snickered, and then leaned in to plant one last kiss on his lips. Short. Sweet. When she pulled away, she saw the torture in his gaze. He couldn't wait anymore.

She steadied herself back to his crotch, lifting her skirt up and her thong off to the side. Posing his cock at her entrance, she rubbed the shaft once down the span of her clit. His breaths paused – ceased entirely. Watching. Waiting. _Wanting_.

And Felicia slowly sank down on his cock, sliding his length inside her at last. She saw Harry's eyes roll back, closing firmly, and heard a low, winded sigh escape his lips.

“ _Jesus_...”

Felicia's snatch clenched tightly around his dick as she scrambled to adjust to it. _Damn_ , it had been _much_ too long since she had a cock inside of her. She huffed quickly in concentration. _Get a hold of yourself, Felicia. You have a job to do._

Reigning in her focus, she braced herself onto her haunches, and gradually started to move her hips. Up. Down. Up. Down.

The first few thrusts shoved his cock so far up into her unused pussy that she gasped in pain – but gradually, the more she swayed, the ache melted away. And bliss took its place.

Felicia rocked the entire width of his cock. Her pussy swallowed it down to its base, then slid up to the head, and back down again. Slow. Tempting. Just a small motion, a delicate pattern.

But Harry Osborn reacted carnally. His breaths came hot and labored, his eyes remained closed. Every dip of her pussy caused him to moan. Before long, he cussed quietly under his breath. “ _Fuckk_...” he drew the word out. His eyes opened and pinned to hers. They were heavy. Heady. He spoke her name on his tongue, and it was a caress. “ _Felicia_...”

Hearing her name like that caused a rise of heat to build inside her. Felicia breathed a sigh of rapture, and steadily increased her pace, plunging his dick with growing force, feeling his body jerk underneath her. She brought her hands to press onto his stomach, purchasing support. And she bounced with renewed vigor. Every groan that left him, every swear that fell dirty from his mouth, caused her to rock harder.

She looked down at him with shrouded eyes and flushed cheeks, and felt a manic, intense pleasure.

Harry Osborn was _hers_. Hers to dominate, hers to fuck. And she wouldn't let him forget it.

As she reached the apex of her speed, Harry's eyes slid down to her chest, and he watched her tits bounce freely. His tongue crept out and smoothly licked the corner of his lips; Felicia tinged redder.

“Lewd little boy,” she huffed. Harry Osborn brought his gaze back to hers – full of fire and zeal. A coarse smile crossed his mouth. His hands suddenly struck outward: one gripped around her wrists, the other sealed down upon her hip. Startled, her pace fell out of synch.

“I'm not so little, Felicia.”

And he drove his cock upwards, fucking her on his own. His hand pressed her wrists together, incapacitating them – and he used the weight of his other arm to hold her firmly in place. He bucked his hips at an alarming rate, slamming them into her thighs. The wet _slap, slap, slap_ sound of bare skin against skin reached Felicia's ears, and she moaned. She felt herself dampen around his dick – juices flowing, spilling onto his balls, staining his slacks. Before long, her moans turned into loud cries.

When Harry released her hands, moved his palms to both sides of her hips, and grunted “Move with me”, Felicia matched his stride. With every shove of his cock, she sank down upon it, meeting thrust for thrust, driving his dick even deeper within her. Felicia felt it slam against her cervix, and she felt a spasm inside her – the jolt preceding a climax.

She looked at him and spoke urgently, the words tumbling in a slur from her mouth.

“Harry...!- I...- I'm close-”

His hands gripped her tighter, fingers nearly cutting into her skin as he worked and pumped his dick. His voice was strained and uneven:

“Cum. Cum for me, baby.”

The fall of endearment from his lips pushed Felicia over the edge. With a strangled yell, she released herself, pussy quivering in waves around his dick. As she succumbed to the pleasure, she fell forward upon his shoulder, body limp.

She felt Harry's hands sink into the flesh of her ass, grasping her tensely, and he rammed his cock a few more times, until - 

“Fuck!” he exhaled torridly into her ear, and his cock gave a great lurch, jerking inside her, filling her with his seed. It twitched, spurting deeply, and Felicia felt the warm gush of his cum flood thickly into her womb. Harry rode her out until his dick finally stopped, spilling all that it had to spill. His hands dropped from her skin, and they collapsed into each other, leaning on one another for support as their hearts pounded and breathing raced.

They remained like that for a very long time.

//

Some time later, with her clothes back on in mostly proper form, Felicia excused herself from his presence, and walked to the door. As she opened it, she heard his voice call out.

“Oh, and Felicia?”

She turned her gaze to see him, and the light from the hallway fell across his face. His eyes seemed vibrant, alive. The dark rings underneath were brighter, receded slightly.

A small grin touched his lips. “Same time and place tomorrow.”

Felicia felt a small jump in her chest – a beat of her heart.

“Yes, sir.” And she exited his office, closing the door shut behind her. A mirrored smile played on her mouth as she briskly walked to the elevator.

_Thank god for simple distractions._

 

//

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it bad that when I first wrote the sex scene, I kept accidentally writing “Dane” instead of “Harry”? My subconscious mind must be trying to tell me something....
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading and spreading the Halicia love!
> 
>  
> 
> xoxo - trappedinhellfire


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